The Legends of Hyrule: Foresight of the Blind
by 7elda Chick
Summary: "Every dark night brings a brighter dawn." Zelda and Link's son is born blind, and his entire life has been a dark void without end...until a certain orphan girl makes an appearance in the forest surrounding his little village.
1. Chapter 1: A Light in the Darkness

_**Prologue**_

Through the stain-glass windows, the moon's silver glow wove into a tapestry of colorful hues, which clothed the otherwise naked stone on which it fell. The Temple was silent, its symbolic silhouette now nothing more than a relic of forgotten history. No furnishing embellished its once handsome halls and entryways. No more did people stand and gawk at its large marble doors, anxious for one tentative glance at the legendary hero who'd one day march boldly from the sacred keep, carrying in his left hand the blade of evil's bane. No… Destiny had become history, and no one believed the stories anymore. To them, they were just "_child's tales"_—imaginative and unrealistic.

Only one person in the town truly remembered and believed the great stories of olden time, and he was nearly as old as time itself. Upon a low stool amid the central temple gallery, he sat quietly, a shadow whose bony fingers quivered above the stagnant, ivory keys of an immense pipe organ.

Around his arthritic form, a profound hush pervaded the room. Even in its neglect, the abandoned building evoked in the old man's heart a robust familiarity, connecting the irrevocable days of his youth to the place where his dyeing soul rested, in the dark, cobweb-infested room, which even the spiders had departed from long ago.

He grieved the day this temple lost its veracity. In his mind, it would always be the place it once was—a home, a beacon of light to those lost in the darkness, to those in dire need. _This_ had been the place they had turned. As long as _this_ building stood, they knew they weren't alone. When had this beautiful emblem of patriotism become so disregarded?

He lowered his head forlornly and took in a sour breath. The dusty air filled his lungs and he coughed long and hard. His long white beard swept across the floor, caught in a sudden draft of cold air spiraling through clefts of the decrepit stones.

Finally the coughing fit eased. He raised his head, placing his left hand on the pipe organ's damaged ivory for support. It felt dead beneath his callused fingertips. In this pose, he remained for some moments. Sluggishly the minutes, like flower petals, sprung from the bud of time and fluttered into the unreachable abyss of the past, where they'd remain forevermore.

He was biding his time, but suddenly—most rashly—he slammed his finger into a key, and a dynamic cord was struck. Its music splayed into the air with force, its deep, teeth-quaking echo seething like a title wave over the building. Only a short pause separated one cord from the next. This one was deep and somber—a long note the old man held for several seconds, before a cascade of hollow notes danced off his deft fingertips.

The music quaked through the room, its thundering echo captivatingly the old man's attending ears. It was a magical tune, one filled with mystery and reflection—one the old man had known all his long life and never would forget. It was a tune that could _change time_, for it was the _Song of Time_.

He played the short tune twice over, but could no more. His strength was waning, and his body grew weaker by the moment. He lifted his hand from the keys, though with difficulty, for the song seemed to be calling him to play it again..._again_. The keys whispered and urged, but he ignored their seductive gravity, leaning back and breathing gruffly.

Unexpectedly, the poor man collapsed. Falling from the bench, he landed heavily beside the large instrument. From his back protruded the handle of a dagger, drenched in blood, and a pool of it was forming around the murdered musician.

The last note of the powerful music—the enchanted song he'd never hear again—resounded in the air, dangling there for a prolonged moment.

* * *

**A Light in the Darkness**

_Chapter 1_

"I hear you."

The girl paused in her stride and glanced up, her eyes widening. She had thought she was alone, nothing but her, the sunlight, and the ferns swaying in their garb of soft greenery. But evidently she had been mistaken, for as she peeked through the dazzling overlay of foliage, toward the location whence the jolly voice had rippled, her bright crystal eyes caught sight of a young boy sitting idly in the broad, open pasture-land nearby. He wore a fresh tunic, the same color as the sundrenched pasture, making him blend into his surroundings so well, it was no surprise the girl hadn't noticed him beforehand.

"How is it you heard me in my silent stride?" she inquired, taking a step toward the edge of the forest wherein she was hidden; but not brave enough to venture into the glitzy daylight, she shrunk into the shadows of a large maple tree.

The boy didn't respond at first, neither did he turn his head in her direction. As if in some state of deep contemplation, he continued to gaze up absently into the gleaming sun, an exposed red orb lodged in a sky swirling with deep blues and oranges, and the girl thought it strange that its tear-evoking light didn't scald his eyes.

A slow and quiet summer night's breeze swept through the sunlit grass, sending a ray of faint light rippling over the pasture. The trees lining the open field swooned to the side, breathing in a whirring breath, before releasing an aimless chatter, their rubbery leaflets writhing, each one reflecting a star of twilight, twinkling and alive.

"I hear everything…" the boy murmured, and the girl had to crane her head to catch the softly-uttered words before a purr of wind whisked them away.

"Is that so?" she sniped doubtingly, retracting the step she had taken, fading back into the depths of the forest, yet somehow, she couldn't find within herself the ability to turn away from the mysterious figure. Clothed in the alluring glory of the setting sun, its rays blinking off his golden hair and pristine features, he seemed an angel, warranting her full attention.

"Yes." A soft smile crept over the young boy's countenance as he continued. "If a fish wriggles in a stream, I hear it. If a quiet bird flits overhead, I hear it..." His voice was soft and mystical, and the girl drew closer yet again, though ignorant of her actions, so enthralled was she in the words of this whimsical stranger and the crystal, ethereal pulse of radiance seeming to wisp off his pure-white skin.

"But that's impossible…" she protested dreamily, unsure if she was addressing his words or the unimaginable kaleidoscope of beauty casting a pink and lavender glow over the treetops. She had never seen nature so alive, but then again, she was never looking.

"Is it?" The boy turned his head, and a bluish-gray light swam in his absent eyes. On seeing it, the girl's lips trembled.

"What's wrong with your eyes!" she yelped, a mix of fright and wonder registering in her tone. She dug her fingers into the warm bark of a nearby tree to steady herself.

"I'm blind," the boy explained, misery tainting the happy charm of his speech. "I see nothing but a dark void without end." He lowered his head gloomily.

The girl remained quiet and still, shocked and hesitant, gazing at him with an expression she herself couldn't have explained, so new was it to her to feel anything but thorns in her feet, bruises in her flesh, and sternness in her features.

The boy lifted his head slowly, his lips trembling over the words, "And though I be blind, I see more light then those who behold the sun."

For a passive moment, the wind was the only voice to be heard, cascading through the branches as the girl wondered deep within herself. Her initial intent when she uncovered the existence of this stranger was to merely gain a laugh from his and her interaction and then slip away into the forest again without bond between them, but now that idea was fruitless. A quick and unrestrained curiosity was beginning to bloom in her spirit toward this creature abandoned in the brush. Unlike the other young boys she had encountered during her brief excursions through the towns who had bitter faces twisted into scowls, voices sharp and boisterous, and eyes piercing and lustful, this lad immerged in the ebbing sunbeams had none of those traits, but seemed to be a gentle and quiet spirit, not aged by the wickedness of human nature or marred by the cruelty of others.

As she thought over these things, a deep urge of compassion gripped at the her fragmented heart, and she walked out to the child, so defenseless and humble and sweet. This pure youth need never bear the weight she carried or know the brutality she had suffered. Though she didn't understand why or how he was different, or what he meant by the words he so poignantly uttered, she knew one thing—that this child would not harm her.

The boy smiled into the air as he heard her approach. She sat beside him, mimicking his cross-legged position, and shielding her squinting eyes from the drooling sun, she voiced her wonder, "How is it that you see more light then those who see the sun?"

The lad reached his hand down into the twinkling grass and plucked a patch of earth from the soil. "I can feel!" he expounded adamantly, raising the dangling patch strewn with dirt and roots as if demonstrating his words. "And I **feel **my world just as much, if not more, than any old bloke sees his!"

"So you'd rather be blind?" the girl probed confusedly. "And feel your world rather than see it?" she added. A bewildered expression surmounted the young boy's face, his blank eyes widening.

"No!" His voice trembled with feeling, as if he couldn't believe she'd ask such a question. "I'd give up **anything **to gain my sight!" He pounded his fist into the ground for emphasis.

"Even your hands and feet?" marveled the girl. Her hands were something she valued more than any other of her assets. She couldn't imagine not having them, but then again, she couldn't imagine not seeing.

"Yes! Even my hands and feet!" he exclaimed resolutely, as he dropped the grass and held up his hands as if offering them up to be taken in exchange for his sight.

"But how would you hunt, or eat, or run from danger?" the girl prodded, still not understanding his way of thinking, but it was somehow enchanting.

The lad placed his hands into his lap. "Oh, but I don't do any of those things…" he replied musingly, after a moment of thinking. "My mom takes care of me, so I don't have to." At the mention of his mother, his decisive scowl bent into a happy grin, but, on the other hand, the girl's body tightened.

"...You have a mother?" she asked wistfully, but the boy didn't catch her absent-mindedness.

"Oh, yes!" His smile widened to such an extent the girl feared that his fragile, doll-like face might crack and fall to pieces. "I have the most beautiful mother in the whole wide world!" he exclaimed.

The girl studied his demeanor, boldly leaning closer into his vague face and noting in her mind the soft petals of his hair and the flawless arch of his brows.

"How do you know she is the most beautiful mother since you have never seen her?" she queried, leaning back upon her knees.

A pensive expression subdued his radiant countenance, and he was quiet for a long time, staring up into the light. The girl waited patiently until she grew weary and was about to rise to her feet when the boy suddenly cried, "I've seen her heart!" Before the girl could recover from her surprise or ask further of him, he continued quickly, "I haven't seen her figure or features, but her touch is always warm and loving, and her voice is always gentle and low. She smells of cinnamon and roses, and she kisses me when I'm sad, and holds me close when I'm scared, and she sings me to sleep every night. And since her heart is pure and lovely, all of her must be!"

The girl listened intently to his words, as if they were some divine ballad. She had never heard a boy talk so about anyone, and she fancied he must surely be a kind young fellow to have such a sweet outlook on things.

"I think you have your mother's heart," she whispered softly, regretting her words closely thereafter, for they sounded much more presumptuous when verbalized than they had in her mind. But the glow of pink flushing across the boy's cheeks did not appear since he was embarrassed, but because he was so delighted to think that he had inherited his mother's best quality.

He turned toward his companion, grinning from ear-to-ear. "I like you," he said boldly. "What is your name?"

The smile that had crept onto the girl's otherwise quiet face quickly fell. "I haven't got a name!" she shouted.

"But you must have a name," the lad began perplexedly. "What does your mom call you?" The girl slump forward and dug her fists into the soil.

"I haven't got a mom!" she wailed. The boy's face creased and his mouth fell open, but he was too surprised by this dilemma to know how to answer. "I don't need one!" the girl continued, lifting her head, a shadow darkening her eyes. "I get everything I need by my own hands, and I don't want any mother!"

"Oh! No!" cried the lad, reaching out toward the girl; but she pulled away and his hand fell into the grass. "Mothers are good," he urged. "I'm sure mine will love you. Just wait and see. She'll be back soon to get me."

"But she won't come and get you!" shrieked the girl. "They never do. They leave you out to fend for yourself and care nothing about your safety. She has abandoned you; can't you see?" The boy stiffened and anxiety paled his face.

"No, I can't see!" he bawled. "But my mother hasn't left me. She has merely gone back to greet father when he arrives home from his work. I asked if I could stay here, and she let me, because she saw how much I love to feel the sun. She'll be back soon, though, and then we'll go home and have dinner. She'd never leave me alone, and even now she knows that the neighbors are watching." On hearing this, the girl leaped up, agitatedly turning her eyes upon the cabins positioned the far side of the field, glancing in their windows for fear someone had spotted her or was even then watching, but she saw nothing.

The boy was too preoccupied in his words to hear her flighty gasp, and he continued talking, speaking the next words slowly and powerfully. "I fear that you have it worse than I do. I would not give up my mother ever, even to see. **Never, ever, ever**! And she would never give me away. We are a family, her, father, and I, and we love each other."

When his statement concluded, silence embedded into the air, and the girl quivered with mixed feelings, unsure if she should flee and hide as she always had when she felt unstable or stay and for once try to understand what was being told to her. She had never known the kind of love he knew so well, never known the bond of a family. This was all new to her, and she felt afraid and uneasy, as if she were a weed in a garden of roses. Finally the boy broke the stillness.

"I will give you a name," he proposed in an upbeat tone, irrelevant to the situation. The girl's eyes rose to his face, now shadowed by the ebbing sun bathing in the liquid of twilight before going to its place of rest. No words seemed suitable to give in answer, so she remained silent. In her heart rippled a raw ache.

"I will name you…Dawn," whispered the lad.

The girl's eyes flicked upon him, for the moment forgetting her pain. She, beside herself, sat back into the grass.

"Why?"she asked.

The boy swallowed and smiled dreamily.

"My mother told me that dawn is when the sun wakes up and spreads its beautiful warm light across the world. She said that it was created by the goddesses to bring light to us and show us that times of bitter and bleak darkness will not last forever, but will be followed by a brighter time of happiness and light. Though I have never seen this glorious occurrence called dawn, I already love it, because it seems to me a message from the Sacred Realm in the heavens, telling me that one day—one blessed day, my eyes will be opened, and I shall see clearly the bright light I have longed after all my years. Yes, that is what I hope for, and when I heard you, I saw a bright white light flicker my hollow vision. You have brought warmth to my heart and light to my eyes, and therefore, I name you Dawn."

The girl had never heard such a beautiful story, and it brought tears to her eyes. "I don't think I deserve such a beautiful name…" she whimpered, dropping her face into her hands.

"Oh, but you do." The boy reached out a silent hand, and the girl looked up. "You are sweet," he added.

Her heart filled to overflowing, she placed her palm into his.

"...Thank you..." she whispered, tears sparkling in her eyes. "...Thank you so much!"

Suddenly the sound of a twig cracking made her jump, and she retracted her hand, her tears freezing in her eyes.

"Mother is coming!" shrieked the boy excitedly, inching forward.

"I must go!" garbled the girl, jumping to her feet as to flee into the forest, but the blind fellow strung his arms around her legs and held her still, crying, "No! Don't go! Please don't go!"

The girl was torn between the safety of the dark forest and the uncertainty of a new friend willing her to do the opposite of her nature.

Another twig cracked, and the girl's eyes widened with urgency.

"I must go!" She wrenched the lad's stony fingers from her legs and tumbled into the forest, leaving the mystical boy far behind.

"Dawn! Dawn! ...Bring back my light..." he moaned, but she was already gone.


	2. Chapter 2: Suspicious Character

**Suspicious Character**

_Chapter 2_

Zelda charged across the field, her heart beating dully against her ribs. Although swift, her movements were not inept. Like a breath of determination, she swept through the tall grass, holding her frilled gown just above her quick, dark sandals.

_Why did I leave him?_—she wondered silently, a pang of self-conviction knotting her stomach. In an anxious hurry, she tore through the forest, twigs snapping under feet. Finally, her worried eyes caught sight of their one desire, and she let out a breathless gasp.

A young, sightless boy lie on his stomach in the grass, his arms extending forward as if reaching for an unseen object. With a swoosh of linen, Zelda knelt beside the whimpering child, cradling him in her arms.

"Are you hurt? What happened? …Oh, I should have never left you!" she moaned, running a brisk, gentle hand through his ruffled golden hair and planting a wet kiss upon his rosy cheek. The boy leaned into her chest and breathed in the sweet aroma of cinnamon and roses which clung to the air round about her.

"No, mother, I am fine. Do you see her? Do you? Oh, please say you do. She mustn't have gotten far. Go after her!" whined the boy, breaking away from her grasp and falling into the dirt.

Before Zelda could consider what her child was asking, she made sure he wasn't harmed. Lifting his fragile body, she propped him beside her and gazed at him with unease. "Who, my dear? Who do you seek?" She glanced across the field, but no shadow or indication of a human's presence was visible; yet, as the whimsical blues and grays of twilight vaporized in the sky, the shroud it cast over the woodland made it hard to see clearly.

"Dawn!" the boy wailed in answer. Confused, Zelda patted his head and each moment became more regretful toward her recent absence.

"No, no, dear, dawn doesn't come until morning. It is now evening, and we must go home to dinner. Father is waiting for us, and believe you me, he is very hungry after his long day at work. We mustn't tarry any longer, lest we forfeit our family time at the table together. Come now." Zelda rose to her feet, lifting the child in her arms. He was weak and bony, and required little effort to lift, even by the delicate strength of his mother.

"No, mother. Dawn is a girl who brought me light! She talked to me and I with her, and we are best friends now…I think. But then you came and she got scared and ran away. Why did she do it, mother?" He snuggled his warm head into her boson, and Zelda paused for a moment to apprehend the curious message; but her mind was too preoccupied in fearing a late arrival, she couldn't focus upon the meaning of his quickly-uttered words. They jumbled in her head, shooting a familiar pain through her temples.

"Tell me when we get home, dearest," she stammered. "I'll be happy to listen then; I promise." The boy nodded before he was hastened on the familiar route home.

The gray liquid of early twilight dribbled peacefully through the whispering branches high above, a flush of silver reaching down like glossy lips to kiss the dew-soft fuzz of the child's golden head, as his mother carefully picked her way through the woodland. Trees—colorful maples subdued among the blandness of their dormant neighbors, crooned quietly to each other at times; other times, they whistled eerily or creaked against another as the irritable wind shook their branches.

The young child pushed his icy, wind-thrashed face against his mother's neck, her warmth an immediate comfort. She wrapped her shawl closely around him as her soft footfalls finally emerged onto the level vicinity of the Ordon Village.

The orange evidence of ripening pumpkins peeped up from their hoods of tall, yellow grass, and Zelda tiptoed among them, squinting into the shadows, being careful not to break their glowing innards or prick her foot upon their barbed stems.

She had never liked the dark. After all her years of late nights, she still had never grown used to the foreboding sense that would cling to the blackness, as if someone or something were watching her, preparing to strike. She quickened her pace, striding over a short bridge which arched across a small stream. The shallow blue and silver depth beneath swirled placidly around her fleeting shadow.

A group of fellows were returning from a long day by the water, fishing poles resting upon their hunched shoulders, heavy with fatigue. They paused for a moment to watch the lady flit by, a silken phantom in her pink gown and shawl of white fleece. She flashed them a bright smile as she went along, and they all tipped their hats in welcome, save one, who gawked at her as if in a trance. In the town he called home, he was a dignitary, well-known as a groomed, sophisticated gentleman with ambition, but to the villagers with whom he'd spent the day, he was nothing more than a bald-faced, wordy _youngen_ who had been tragically cursed with the inability to cast a proper line.

When Zelda was long out of earshot, he turned to his companions, murmuring with a touch of wit, "It's a good thing we are retiring for the night, for I believe my exhaustion is working evils in mine eyes. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I just saw an angel glide by." The men chortled somewhat as they continued their way homeward, tripping now and again in the dark.

"Aye," began another, an oriental-looking short man with a spindly mustache and a high-pitched voice, "she may look like an angel, but she be as real as any o' us."

"Who is she, then?" pursued the gentleman, intrigue awakening his torpid gape.

Before anyone could deliver an answer, a husky voice sprang up behind them. "She is none other than the daughter of King Parhyn, a royal descendant of the crown and throne of Hyrule!"

The men skidded to a sharp standstill, glancing toward the owner of the rough voice. Their gaze fell upon an old creature, bent and bony, panting and wheezing as he frantically scuttled through the grass, determined to reach and maintain pace with those far younger and quicker. He was the oldest of the line-casters, a tight-faced, ancient man who often lingered like a withered shadow behind his friends. Throughout the entire trip, he hadn't spoken a word, until just then, when even his weariness couldn't repel his want to speak.

Shocked to hear his voice and remember that he had been with them, the men waited for him to catch up. He was breathing heavily, but his half-blind eyes, though veiled beneath a hefty wad of rowdy gray hair, rose to the face of the inquiring lad.

"She is Princess Zelda," he concluded with a dry cough.

"Princess Zelda?!" gasped the young man, anxiety sparking in his tone. "Why is she here of all places? A young beauty like her should **not** be plodding the desolate plains of the Hylian Land! No, she should be locked up safely in a castle. …Old man, you must be crazy!" A bright orb of dark light flickered in the fellow's eyes, forceful and passionate, wavering and uncertain, as though he might clout the old man over his head or chase after the now vanished silhouette of the royal lady. The fishermen were taken aback by his change in attitude. Though at times, he had been overly talkative and sometimes plain annoying, he had been, at least, an upright companion, not taken to spurts of anger or aggression. Thankfully, one of the comrades managed to respond before any extremes were acted upon.

"Nay, Old Norvall speaks well. She is one called Princess of Hyrule, or at least, she was once, back before the Black Days. Haven't yah heard?" He placed the butt of his pole into the soil, using it as a support.

"No, I dare say I haven't. I've been away for so long, I fear I've fallen behind in the ways of Hyrule. Pray, tell me what has happened." The youth had turned away his dark eyes as he spoke, and now as he looked back into the uncertain gaze of his companions, he was as calm as he had been previously, without a touch of his former passion.

Still astounded at the stranger's temperamental transition, the men wavered, but after several seconds of undefined silence, a savage-looking comrade with a rough beard and bushy eyebrows pursued to explain.

"It was a tragedy—those Black Days was, leaving us in what state we be—penniless, rough-handed, dirt-bound, lake scrapers! Without a rest between work hours or a rupee to our names!" The other men grunted in wretched agreement. "But we weren't always this way. Years 'go, these lands composed a beauteous countryside. The rivers cut clear, sharp paths of glittery depths, teeming with fresh fish. Rupees were many and could be found most anywhere the grass grew. …We were a thriving economy, each and every town and village in all of Hyle, and we kept an eyes on one another, until…" The man shook his head.

"…Everything was lost…" finished the bloke beside him, a younger fellow with starry eyes. "Even at the castle… All the money was ruined, and the rupees were all gathered up in the hopes of rebuildin' our home…but to no avail. Princess Zelda lost the throne…and she married a commoner. Now she lives the life of a peasant, scraping muck like any other dame."

"That is true, but Zelda is no fool!" a ruddy-faced man rebuked him. He stood at least three inches taller than the others and wore a shirt held precariously together by set of large cross-stitches. He glared at his friends with a menacing gape, annoyed to hear any ill words spoken on behalf of his wife's best friend. "She married a lad named Link," he continued, pride catching a gleam of his eyes as he spoke the heroic name. "Sure, he is no product of royalty, but he makes a good husband, I hear; and Zelda seems mighty proud and fulfilled with her empty pockets than one would suppose. And now with her son and all; well…she's got a lot on her plate…"

"Aye, Rusl," agreed the short, spindly-mustached fellow, nodded absently. "Link is a good man, and he has ways about him none can understand. Take that hawk of his for instance. What a creature! And he's able to control it so effortlessly… Say, if I could get that fowl to bend to my will like that, I'd never have to worry about asking Link to shoot down the bee hives which form above my shop. I could do it myself, long before the buzzing insects scared away my customers. Speaking of my shop…"

As the conversation drifted to other topics, the young stranger pondered the words provided him concerning the pretty lady briefly seen fleeing the common.

"She has a husband and a son…" he murmured to himself, so low that none overheard. As he spoke, his eyes took on a shadowed appearance, and his lips twisted into a vindictive grin. "Well that just won't do…"


	3. Chapter 3: Dinner and a Familiar Lullaby

**Dinner and a Familiar Lullaby**

_Chapter 3_

When the fishermen's conversation was reaching its peak, Zelda and her son Cason had arrived at their home, a one-story, thatch-roofed treehouse accessed by a short ladder leading to an unsteady porch barely wide enough to allot three occupants.

With Cason in a tight one-handed clasp, Zelda carefully ascended the rickety ladder, reminding herself grudgingly that this was yet another thing Link had "forgotten" to fix, but she quickly pushed the concern to the back of her awareness, pulling herself onto the deck and bursting through the marred wooden door.

Immediately, the zesty, smoky aroma of onion and cucco filled her and Cason's nostrils, as sweet as the scent of a fresh rain fall and just as welcoming. It made Zelda's stomach churn with hunger and Cason's mouth water.

"Sorry I'm late!" Zelda strode into the room, nearly knocking head-first into her husband, a tall, sturdy fellow whose features were mirrored in those of his son. Neck-length, wind-swept golden hair, demeaning brows, and bright blue eyes, completed by a line of lips set as though the owner were in deep contemplation—was a description apt to depict the handsome man.

Link's stern countenance quickly fell when his eyes caught sight of his spouse, her cheeks flushed crimson with exhilaration.

"…Don't be sorry," he began undecidedly, the soft spot in his heart toward Zelda once again desisting him from acting upon the unpleasant emotions which arose in his mind during the long, toilsome day. With her beside him, all else—burdens of labor, concerns for his family, and pains in his mind and muscles—all melted away into nonexistence and were replaced by a warm, cozy sensation. He gazed contentedly into her sweet, bluish-gray eyes, full of love and delight.

"You're here now," he continued in a quiet voice, but awakening from his reverie, he gave Zelda and Cason a quick hug before motioning them toward the table. "And I have everything ready for us."

Zelda gasped in ecstasy.

"Why, it's most lovely!" she cried, hastening toward the old countertop made new by its tablecloth of soft, crimson fabric.

"What? What is it?" exclaimed Cason, wriggling in Zelda's arms.

"While we were out, Father has been about lighting the candles and filling our dishes," she murmured into his ear, her wet voice soft and tickling, making him squirm. "He has laid out a tablecloth also, and the candles cast a lovely silhouette over the room," she finished, raising her chin to smile at Link in gratitude. His heart quickened at the sight of the long-awaited reward.

"Don't look too long," he began after a moment of soaking in her unmentioned appreciation, his arm casually wrapping itself around her waist. "I am very hungry, and did this _purely_ to preoccupy my mind on something rather than the tempting aroma of the kettle." The crafty smile Link unsuccessfully tried to suppress made Zelda laugh, a charming sound, soft like a dove's coo, yet big and full like a bell.

"Oh, yes! And I am hungry too," she giggled. "Let us eat."

Zelda sat Cason in his seat on the far right, silently placing the candles on the opposite side of the table to avoid disaster. When all was compete, she lowered herself into the chair beside Cason and smoothed out her gown. Link then sat in the chair beside her and quietly folded a misplaced curl behind Zelda's ear. A cool jitter flushed through her body at his touch.

"Ooh! It's cucco soup!" exclaimed Cason, who had felt for his utensils and without restraint, downed a spoonful. "My favorite!"

"Yes, and you doubt that I made it specifically for that reason?" marveled his mother brightly. Cason smiled and shook his head rapidly, his cheeks flushing with delight.

"This must be the best day in all the wide realm!" he shrieked merrily. "Only I wish my friend Dawn could share a part in this meal. I wonder if it is her favorite too…" As the boy continued to slurp and talk, the parents glanced at each other, unsure what to think.

"I suppose I should have asked...but it didn't occur to me... Perhaps tomorrow I shall get to—"

"Who are you talking about?" queried his mother. The boy dropped his spoon into the soup with an ear-spitting clatter.

"Oh! Mother! She was a girl, and she was sweet. And she said I have your heart, and I like her. And I'm going back to talk to her again tomorrow, am I not? Oh, please say I am!" He rung his little hands together feverishly.

With worry arching her brows, Zelda looked at her husband for support, but Link didn't share her concern.

"So you met a new friend?" he asked between mouthfuls, seeming undaunted by his son's unusual excitement. Cason nodded briskly.

"She said she hadn't a name or a mother, so I named her Dawn and said that my mom would love her. Oh, wouldn't you, mother? But then she ran away. Yet I think she'll come back if she sees me waiting. Don't you think she will?"

Zelda continued to stare intently at Link, annoyance flashing in her eyes as he unknowing continued to ignore her, quieting sipping his soup.

"I think she will return if she is really your friend," he answered, when Zelda refused to respond.

"Yes…" wavered Zelda solemnly after a moment of unsettling silence.

As Cason continued to chat on about his brief acquaintance and how wonderful she was, Zelda became more and more fretful. She was glad when dinner ended and she had an opportunity to interrupt his electrified rant.

"Cason," she began. "I see that your plate is nearly empty. Have you finished?"

Cason's eyes widened, and he reached down. Grabbing his bowl and putting it to his lips, he sucked the very last drops from the base.

"Now I'm done!" he said with a smile, his face dripping with broth. A wild carrot clung helplessly to his chin.

"Oh, darling," Zelda crooned. Standing, she took the bowl from him, placed it back on the table, and began wiping away the mess he had made using a towel she always kept close at hand for instances such as this.

When he was clean again, Zelda relaid the news, "It's time for bed, you know." At first, Cason didn't react, allowing Zelda time enough to lift him from his chair, but when he realized she was not joking, he squealed, his eyes widening as if she were about to carry him to his doom.

"I don't want to go to bed!" he shrieked outright. Wriggling like a worm, he pushed her away, ignorantly unaware that if he succeeded in his escape, he would have fallen quite a distance to the floor. Thankfully, Zelda was not about to let that happen. She held him tightly, expecting every move he made.

"Please mamma, can't I stay up a little longer?" He stared at her with wide, pleading, absent eyes, trembling with anxiety. Usually Zelda would give in to his entreating, but though she felt the evaluating tug in her heart, bigger matters than his desires were weighing upon her tonight. Right now she needed to talk with her husband alone.

"No…" She hesitated. "Momma is tired and wishes to go to bed also."

Many years ago, Link had learned that he had no authority concerning whether or not his child was allowed to remain awake past bedtime, for Zelda would always have the last word, no matter what. Therefore, he stayed out of the conversation, meanwhile pouring himself another serving of soup.

Zelda glanced at him comically before she vanished into Cason's small room, having to slouch beneath its heavily-slanted roof. She sat Cason on his bed before grabbing some pajamas out of a hand-carved dresser nearby. As she helped Cason change, he pleaded with her.

"If I must go to bed now, will Daddy at least tell me a bedtime story?" he implored. Zelda shook her head decidedly.

"No way!" she began, tickling him under the chin. "His stories always get you all roused up and excited. Right now you should be thinking about sweet, darling things…like a brisk, warm breeze or a fresh summer rain." Zelda pulled the last of Cason's nighttime garb—a soft, green night cap—over his tangled hair before lying him down on the cot. She kissed him on the forehead and went to hasten to the doorway, when Cason called out sharply, "Mom!"

"Yes." Zelda turned impatiently.

"Will you please, **please** sing to me?" he begged, wrinkling up his face until it turned red with exhaustion.

Zelda wavered for a time, glancing between the hopeful young boy and her husband in the kitchen, but finally her face softened.

"...Oh…alright" she yielded, leisurely walking back toward the cot.

Zelda sat beside Cason and stared down into his upstretched face. Breathing in a quiet breath, she began the one lullaby she knew by heart—the one that had been sung to her as a child, though she had altered the words somewhat from the original.

"Dear-est child…" she began in a soft and low, drawn-out voice. "...Close your eyes…Sleep and dream until the sunrise. I'll be here…so you need not fear…as this world stands _still_." Her voice came out strong and clear as she hit the high note, and her son's smile widene, as he listened with all his little heart, reciting each passionate word in his mind as she sang them.

Wondering what was keeping Zelda, Link went to the room, but he paused in the doorway, enwrapped in her magnificent voice. He had forgotten how beautiful it was, having not had time to listen to her melodies in what seemed to him many years, but, in truth, it hadn't been that long a duration. It was just that every time he heard her voice in song, it was new to him, sweet and ringing and passionate like an endless river. He gazed at her lovingly, but she didn't see it. Her back was turned, and she didn't know he was watching her.

"Oh, way beneath the stars…peace, will not wander far. Love…is a sweet promise I'll _keep._" As Zelda continued, her voice began to waver.

Cason didn't catch the pain quivering in her vocals, for he was slowly descending into a peaceful slumber, but Link immediately detected it. In a second, his arms were around her, caressing her frail white arms, supporting her weak body. She forced a painful smile as she continued, but her eyes brimmed with tears.

She couldn't understand it. Many times, more than she could remember, she had sung this same song to Cason to lull him to sleep night after night, and every time she had been able to conceal the hurt, drown out the ghostly voice that would haunt her every lyric, blink away the piecing crimson eyes that would gaze at her through her remembrance. But now that never-faded memory struck into her vision, blurring her eyes with a sight too awful to bear. A lady with white hair lay, white and beaten, in a garden, holding Zelda's hand...singing...and slowly slipping away from her...into a death bleak and mysterious, and there was nothing Zelda could do to help her.

Unlike Zelda, Link didn't question her uncommon moodiness. He knew the story, for he had been present at the time, and it too sometimes brought a secret and unshed tear to his eye. He began gently leading Zelda out of the room, trying to do so quietly, but the floor creaked with each step, and Zelda's sobs, though quiet, rebounded loudly in the empty room.

Cason opened his eyes.

"Mother, father? Are you there?" he whispered uncertainly.

"Wait for me in our room, dearest," Link purred into Zelda's ear, and she obeyed, fleeing to her room.

When she was gone, Link walked over to Cason. "I am here. Goodnight, son," he said solemnly, leaning down to kiss the boy's forehead, but Cason's words made him stop and listen.

"Oh, Daddy. ...Who do you think Dawn was? She seemed so special to me." The boy looked genuinely perplexed.

"I don't know," wavered Link, planting the kiss in its mark before rising.

"...Maybe she was an angel..." he added quietly before leaving, his mind still focused on Zelda and how she was faring.

"…An angel…" Cason murmured mystically to himself when Link had gone. He gazed absently at the dark ceiling woven with the distilled silver and gray emittance of the moon as it gleamed through the cracks of the the curtains. "That's what she was…"


	4. Chapter 4: Worries in the Night

**Worries in the Night**

_Chapter 4_

When Link reached the room whence he had sent Zelda just moments before, he found that she was just then slipping into her white, silken nightgown, her once tear-stained features solemn, but dry. She didn't turn to face him, but went about her routine duty of drawing down the bed-sheets and fluffing the pillows as if she were alone.

Link regarded her with concern for a prolonged moment, but said nothing, subsequently changing into his night trousers, his lips drawn tightly with unease. When he was dressed, Zelda was already in bed, snuggled up below the covers, her face turned away toward the wall.

Link gently pulled down the blankets and crawled in beside her. Though Zelda's breathing portrayed that she was asleep, Link could always discern the difference between when his wife was truly dreaming or feigning slumber. He could feel a drift of worry rising from her motionless form.

Quietly, he waited for her to open up her heart and tell him what was bothering her, ready to listen and gratify; but as the moments dragged on and no ease offset her tense muscles, Link decided to make the first move.

Gentling stroking her shoulder, he murmured, "Zelda—"

"Link!" Zelda interrupted. Leaping around, she pulled herself into his warm chest, and he cradled her lovingly. "I just don't know what to do…" she sobbed into his skin.

"About what?" Link's face was soft and earnest. Zelda's eyes rose to his, and she gaped at him, her lips trembling, her eyes pleading and vulnerable.

Link despised the look of fear distorting her face, and his heart shuddered deep within him as he recalled the very first time Zelda had made that expression, years ago, in a dark and grimy room, lacking hope and seething with evil.

It had scarred her—that look had—scarred her face, but more importantly, her heart. Her heart had once been strong and willful, dignified and not easily frightened or troubled, but that fateful day broke her, transformed her into something Link never had wanted her to be—something he couldn't bear to see her become.

On occasion, in the darkness of nighttime, Zelda would dwindle into a mood she couldn't control. It hadn't happened anytime recently, but when it had, her pupils had retracted and she'd entered a delusional tantrum. Some nights, it was worse than others, but most times, she'd just cling to Link, trembling in the dark, crying into his neck, while he comforted her. Other times, she would flail about the bed and claw recklessly at the blankets as though they were snares of knives. Sweat bleeding from her swollen pores, she'd twist around frantically and scream at the top of her voice. Most times, Link couldn't understand what hysteria-driven words she'd shriek while under the influence of insanity, for her speech was often slurred and passionate; yet sometimes, he'd catch a few sentences, instantly regretting that he had, for they'd burn into his mind—an eternal flame nothing could extinguish.

"**Link! Don't leave me! Never leave me! Oh, I'll die! Oh, I'll die if you leave! I'd rather die than be alone. Oh! Come back!**" she had cried once during an uproar.

Link would feel so helpless, being unable to appease her, though try as he might. He'd hold her firmly and speak to her in soothing tones, whispering and emphasizing how much he loved her and how he'd never let her go, but she couldn't hear him. Sometimes her mood raged so wildly, that he had to hold her down, lest she harmed herself, and too often he'd come out of bed in the morning, his arms blotched with unintended bruises.

Zelda didn't know what she was doing. All she knew was that she'd blank out in the evening and awaken later when the sun was dawning, remembering nothing about the night previous; yet, as she tried to recall her actions, a sore longing would ache through her heart, a feeling as though she was lacking something important.

Link had told her briefly about her delusions, but he'd decrease the extremity of the occurrence and hide the bruises she never knew came by her own hand. There was no doubt about it that if Zelda did come to know the entire truth about her outbursts, she would run away, wanting to protect Link and her son from the monster she sometimes became—the monster Link feared the most and the only one he could not defeat. That was the main reason Link never told her completely about her delusions. He loved her so much he'd sacrifice his sleep and sanity to keep her in the safety of his home. Out there in the world, who would comfort her? Who would shield her from herself?

As Link pondered over these troubles, the recollection of a dark, armor-clad fiend rippled before his eyes.

**_He_**_—he did this to her_. Link's eyes flashed with malice at the thought, but the offender was dead now, never to rise again. Yet, the wounds he left behind, no matter what dimension he now tread, whether it was beyond reach of the living, would never heal.

When Link aroused from his thoughts, Zelda was still gazing at his face absently, trembling and distant; and the look caused his eyes to gleam with unshed tears. He leaned down and ardently kissed her half-open lips, but she didn't return the caress. "I'll always protect you, dearest. No matter what…" he whispered. To his surprise, Zelda immediately stopped trembling when she heard his voice, and her sight focused, illuminating the pretty blue, insightful eyes Link fell in love with.

"I know, Link. Thank you…" she murmured earnestly, swallowing the lump which had formed in her throat, but it bobbed back into place. "But…" She gazed deeply into his eyes.

"Yes, dearest?" Link stroked her soft brunette hair.

"I…I am afraid, and I don't know why. It is so strange." Zelda drew her hand out from beneath his arm and pressed it against her heart. "It hurts."

Link rested his hand against hers. "Don't be afraid, Zelda. Everything is fine. I'm here, Cason is safe, and—"

"That's who I'm worried about," cut in Zelda sharply. She closed her eyes and breathed in a deep breath. "I don't understand it, but I fear Cason's new acquaintance, the girl he seems so fond of. I feel as though she is not who she pretends to be." Zelda shook her head and opened her eyes, awaiting Link's response.

"Did you meet her?" he asked, wondering at Zelda's worry over what he considered a simple matter. Zelda shook her head again, slowly.

"No… But… I feel it Link. I just **feel **it. Cason is a yet a child, and without his sight, how can he discriminate between truth and pretend...or good and evil? The girl might have been playing someone younger, filling his head with nonsense. ...I fear the attachment he had formed with her."

"Zelda, you must understand that Cason is no fool. He has a good head on his shoulders, regardless of his age or lack of sight, and I doubt very highly that he had met one disguised as someone else," Link replied after a moment of silence.

"Yes, my worries do seem quite outlandish, but, Link, if you could only feel the weight in my heart about it, maybe you'd view it differently." Zelda was quiet a moment, and then she continued. "Link… You don't suppose that she was…a…" Zelda shuddered. "A zyviel?" she finished with a sob. Link's eyes widened with astonishment.

"Absolutely not!" he exclaimed, but calming his tone, he questioned, "Honey, is this what worries you?" Zelda sighed, staring up at the ceiling.

"Not quite so much as it had, now that you've confirmed to me its foolishness… I just want to protect Cason…"

"So do I, but we must remember to protect him from the right things. A real friend is not evil, and we mustn't deter Cason from finding one." Zelda knew this, of course, but she nodded solemnly as if just realizing the fact.

"You are right. Thank you for comforting me." She snuggled her head down on Link's arm and closed her eyes.

Link gazed at her silently for at least ten minutes, in deep contemplation, until his neck began to ache, and he finally laid his head down upon the pillow.

As the cricket's monotonous chirp filled the room, Zelda and Link fell fast asleep, cradled in each other's arms.


	5. Chapter 5: Early Morning

**Early Morning**

_Chapter 5_

Zelda almost always awoke in unison with the sun, but since it was too early to go about family duties or prepare breakfast, she grabbed a worn book from the sill and went to sit by the hearth.

After lighting a blaze upon the tarnished wood, she reclined into a heavy oak chair bound by disproportionate cushions, each bearing a different and clashing design. Yet, it was no matter to her. Even when she was princess, she never worried about the simple matters surrounding elegance. Of course, she could take pleasure in colorful trappings and drapery, but she could take just as much comfort in a simple chair void of color or finery.

The book she held was an old one, faded by use and tarnished with stains. It smelt muggy and weathered, and its thatched binder was on its last string of life, yet Zelda still held it to her heart as her very favorite source of literature. It was a book of poetry—a book given to her when she was a mere tot, not even old enough to comprehend its poignant words, yet she had always loved and cherished it, even then, for its stippled ink drawings were so spectacular and defined. Most of its poetry she had memorized, darling parts and portions throughout her years, which returned to her mind time and again when they seemed most fitting to the occasion.

Zelda carefully folded over the yellowed sheets, revealing her page marker—a faded piece of blushing cloth. She gazed at the fabric in remembrance of what it once had a share in being. Years before the mind grew weary, the artless piece of now unworkable textile was once a part of a magnificent gown worn by a young, light-hearted princess, her blond curls adorned in the sun, her head bejeweled with a crown of gold and silver. She was a child loved by every face she met, and she loved all who saw her. Sometimes Zelda couldn't believe that girl was once her, now when the years seemed so fleeting, when danger seemed so prominent. Time would go on to work its needled woe, but she had what could never be taken from her: her precious memories. She caressed the faded patch of gown, its touch like a familiar friend, before she laid it gently upon her lap and raised the olden book toward her eyes.

There was nearly not enough light in the room, but Zelda held the book in such a way as to allow the fire's crystal emission to dance upon its black figures. Some letters were opaque even so, yet Zelda didn't stumble over the words. Most of them came easily back to her from her remembrance, like waves returning to the shore. She began reading silently to herself.

_A Hero's Coming_

* * *

_Lament is heard—a grayish sound_

_—A low moaning; it floats around_

_To seize the hearts and pain the mind;_

_But look! Oh look! And you will find:_

_There is a youth with eyes so bright,_

_In whom dwells a divine light._

* * *

_Do not fear the darkened gaze_

_For men of power will surely laze_

_When faced with youthful courage—here_

_Where valor shames an evil's fare._

* * *

_Discourage not when earth shall fail;_

_The morning's light shall come and hail_

_A hero's might and then you'll know_

_There was no need to fret and woe._

* * *

Zelda laid the book on her lap quietly, an inner urge seizing her heart. She had forgotten the backbone of poetry, forgotten that prophecy and foresight had woven itself into the marks of the pages and that poets were often not just wise writers depicting a rhyme, but sages predicting the future.

How real it seemed, now as she read the words, to think and realize how factual they were, and yet so unworldly.

She gaped into the fire, recalling the history and changing tides of Hyrule, realizing yet again the abnormality of her world and the pattern most vividly publicized among the years gone by. Evil would come, yet good would always prevail—this had been a legend, prophecy, and promise since the days of the goddesses, when they established the workings of the universe.

This pattern and legend was a fate Zelda and Link could never escape. From a young age, they had been chosen, as many had before them, to walk the path of a hero by redeeming Hyrule from each and every one of its troubles. On the backside of their hands sat an imprint of the Triforce, the symbol of a hero, which was given to them by the goddesses, along with the power and destiny to restore the balance of good and evil among the Hyrulians every time they went astray...before evil reigned supreme.

Zelda had been living this tragic, unbalanced life since she was seven, when her father had been murdered, and even though the wickedest foe and murderer had been defeated for what seemed the last time, she knew that the pattern was not complete.

She, Link, and now Cason would continue to live on day-to-day wondering when another attack would be made upon their home, when another evil would emerge. This was not the life she wanted for her son, nor was it ever one she had wanted for herself. No. She wanted a life full of ease and eagerness, not of suspense and impermanence.

Zelda was casually aroused from her ponderings by a creaking sound in the bedroom close by, but she paid the sound little attention. The light of early morning was drizzling through the thin curtains lining the large bay window beside her, and she knew it was nearly time to awaken Link. Link was known, not only by her but by many, to be a late sleeper, and if she didn't awaken him, there was no chance of his rising any time before noon.

Gently, she set the book closed against her page marker and laid the it on the table before dancing a nimble, barefoot step over the creaking floorboards. Arriving at her bedroom, she quietly pushed the door open and stepped in. Link was lying face-down in the bed, the blankets twisted tightly around him, exactly as she had left him earlier.

Not only was he a late sleeper, but a distraught one as well, apt to inadvertently twine around the blankets while he slept. The scene reminded Zelda of the earlier years of their marriage, when Link and her were just getting to know each other romantically. Often, they would sleep the morning away curled up in one another's arms, the blankets pulled from their places, cocooned around them. Those were precious days, but now they had a responsibility to protect and a reputation to maintain.

Zelda glided over to the edge of the bed and leaned down to nudge Link's shoulder with a gentle hand. He didn't stir, but Zelda shouldn't have expected him to. Her careful touch had been able to caress a bird without its taking flight.

Seeing he still slept quite soundly, she placed both her delicate hands upon his shoulders and shook him back and forth. Link's head bobbed to and fro, but his eyes didn't open. Astonished, Zelda pursued to shake him. After a while of unproductive work, she leaned down into his face and yelled, "Wake up you sleepy head!"

Immediately, Link's eyes flicked open with alarm, and acting upon a disillusioned impulse, he tackled Zelda. In a fit of confusion, they both landed on the floor with a thud. Glaring at Zelda, Link finally came to awareness, and his eyes softened.

"Zelda…" his muddled lips murmured. "What are you doing?"

"Well!" coughed Zelda, breathing in a stupefied gasp. "I wasn't trying to murder you, but it seems you saw it differently." She laughed curtly, pushing him off her chest.

"Sorry about that," he laughed outright, sitting back upon his knees awkwardly, the bed sheets still wrapped around his legs.

"Well, don't just stare at me!" cried Zelda. "Go eat breakfast while you still have time! Morning is waning quickly." Link's eyes widened.

"Right." He leaped up, tore off the rowdy blankets, and rushed out of the room. When he had vanished into the kitchen, Zelda let her tense muscles relax into the floor, as she sighed and rolled her eyes impishly. "That silly husband of mine..."

...

After Zelda had transformed the disorderly bed into as neat a reproduction she could, and Link had finished a meager breakfast of toast and cocco eggs, they both met at the door.

"You have everything you need?" questioned Zelda, running a hand over his green tunic. He nodded as he strapped on his worn leather work belt.

"I think so."

"Good…" she whispered, her eyes migrating to the floor.

"Is something bothering you, Zelda?" he asked. He had noticed the book of poetry on the table when he had been eating breakfast, and Zelda's languid behavior during the past few minutes had made him wonder at her thoughts.

"Link." Her eyes rose. "I just don't know what to tell Cason if he pursues to plead me into allowing him visit the girl he met yesterday. I'm not sure if the privilege would do him good. What do you think?" Her words were quiet and pensive.

"Don't worry about the future, Zelda," Link murmured, reading the thoughts she couldn't express by way of the emotional attachment the goddesses had strung between those who bore the Triforce. "Just make sure he gets his schoolwork done, and if he has done well, a trip outside won't do him any harm." Seeing that his encouragement fell on deaf ears, he placed a gentle finger beneath Zelda's chin and raised her face to meet his. "Cason is growing into a wise young boy," he murmured. "Take joy in it. He shall be a good worrier someday." Zelda broke away from his hold.

"No he won't!" she hollered a bit louder than seemed necessary. "Don't you see, Link? He's blind! He can't do anything on his own, much less be a hero for someone else!" Tears flooded her eyes, and Link embraced her calmly.

"But, Zelda—" In a soothing tone, Link went to explain what he meant, but she interrupted him.

"No, Link. We've had this conversation many times. He will not… He just** can't**…" she sobbed. Lowering her head for a moment, she tried to compose herself. "...He is my son, and I love him..." she whispered.

"He is my son, too," said Link in a wounded voice, curtly releasing Zelda. "And I love him just as much as you do."

"I know, Link. I know… But I just can't…let him…" Zelda wavered, tears dangling from her cheeks.

"Shhh…" soothed Link, arching his neck so that he could stare into her downcast eyes. "Don't worry about it, Zelda." He kissed her on her trembling lips, and she returned the touch passionately.

"But after all these years," he began in a somber voice, when he had risen to his full height, "there is one thing I've learned about time: it is never certain. The future is not written in stone. …We must be prepared come what may."

"I know, Link." Zelda nodded, wiping away her cold tears, and Link kissed her once more before leaving.

Mutely, Zelda watched him descend the ladder and make his way toward the village square. She didn't turn away until the green of Link's tunic materialized into the luscious mop of green forest, glittering with a sheen of fresh dew.

"I know, Link…" she repeated once more before closing the door.


	6. Chapter 6: Worries and Lessons

**Worries and Lessons**

_Chapter 6_

Cason was wide awake when Zelda came in to fetch him, and Cason immediately recognized her delicate footstep.

"Oh! Good morning, mother! Isn't it a good morning?" He smiled beamingly as Zelda bent down to lift him from the bed. It was unfurled and chaotic, and there was no mistaking that he was his father's son.

"Yes. It is a good morning, Cason, and we have a lot of work to get done." Zelda couldn't help but smile at the sweet, rosy face lifted toward hers. After Link had left, she'd spent a few silent moments in her bedroom to recover from her glum sentiment and afterward outfit herself for the day, and now as she met Cason, she was as blooming and calm as the world after a fresh rainfall, wearing one of her more lovely dresses, a white silken gown frilled about the collar, completed by one hot-pink gem embedded into the fabric in the middle of her neck. Her long, slightly wavy brunette locks draped down around her, framing her vibrant face and stimulating her azure eyes. She ruffled Cason's wavy gold mane as she carried him to the kitchen.

"What are we going to eat?" wondered Cason, squirming in the seat Zelda placed him in.

"Well… How about some cereal?" Zelda sat a bowl in front of him and, pouring from a sack, filled it with a strange flaky substance.

"Ooh! With sugar? Please!" cried Cason, who had heard with eagerness the cackling of the cereal entering the dish. He reached toward the sound, but Zelda yanked the bowl away, knowing that if she hadn't, there would have been an accidental mess.

"Of course." Zelda poured just enough goat milk into the bowl to cover the cereal before she went to the cupboard and pulled out the desired sweet. She dropped two sugar cubes into Cason's bowl. _Plub, bloop_.

Handing him a spoon and pushing the bowl in front of him, she said, "Now eat, and be careful not to spill it." He obeyed.

Zelda silently sipped at her cup of tea and watched Cason from her seat beside him. As she watched his white, frail hands eagerly lift spoon after spoon to his lips, and now and then dig at the bottom of the bowl to scoop up some dissolved sugar, the words of her husband came back to her.

_How can Link expect his own young and inexperienced child to one day be a warrior?_—she wondered, a pain searing her features. Cason was so little, so happy…so innocent. _How could Link be so cruel as to subject this young being to the viles of the outside world, the world of evil and contempt._ Zelda well knew the wickedness which lurked outside her protective four walls, and that immorality was something she had vowed to keep Cason away from since the day of his birth. She had been faithful to her promise all these years, for Cason knew neither the meaning of violence nor of sorrow, and it would break Zelda's heart to see the accomplishment of all her careful conducts ruined by one faulty conception imagined by her husband.

"It is foolish to keep a light like him in the shadows all his life," Link had told her not but a year ago, during one of his contemplative moods. "He is a strong boy, and his innocence laces around him like a halo. The light in his heart is clear, and he has the potential to become a bright beacon, leading those lost in the darkness into the illumination of freedom."

"But Link…he is young yet. We may not judge his character until further development. Furthermore, even if the evils were to fall blindly at his light, what would that make him? I wish my son not to become some strange, awe-evoking symbol." In other words, she didn't want Cason to take up the role of hero of Hyrule. He was too young, too weak, too sickly for such nonsense, according to Zelda's excuse.

What Zelda failed to realize was the reality of her son's capability. He wasn't as fragile and helpless as she saw him. He was no longer that baby in the cradle, crying in the middle of the night, who could only be appeased by the gentle and loving care of not his father, but of his mother. Zelda had grown attached to Cason's lack of ability, and she figured herself a fine martyr, for the cause of protecting her child. But she was wrong. What she was doing was more detrimental to her son than not. Spoiling him was all she was accomplishing, creating in him an impediment more daunting to his life than his inability to see. She was making him into a flighty, dependent creature, without hope of getting by without her. But that's what she wanted. The fact of her being burdened for his sake was a lie she herself had created and believed. She didn't mean to be selfish, but she had grown so used to the fact of Cason's constant needing her, she thought it impossible and most rueful to change the routine.

In truth, she truly believed Cason needed her completely, and that without her he wouldn't survive. So it was a hidden selfishness, one she didn't even recognize, which impelled her to be the over-protective saint and mother she was, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that she loved Cason. She loved him with all her heart.

_I love my son too much to let all my effort in keeping him content go to waste—_Zelda thought, but suddenly, her contemplations were startled out of her by a shrill voice.

"Aren't you going to have breakfast?"

Zelda blinked, taking a moment to go over and make sense of her son's question.

Cason was nearly finished with his cereal, and he was staring upward, at the place he presumed his mother was sitting, though he hadn't heard a noise from her in quite a while.

"I had my breakfast earlier. I am quite satisfied now with my tea." Zelda's voice was solemn, and it surprised even her. She forced a smile to combat her mixed feelings, but it was near useless an endeavor, since Cason couldn't see the half-hearted grin and her own emotions couldn't be fooled by a mere stimulating of the cheek muscles.

"Is something wrong?" Cason asked, concern arching his brows. In that moment, he looked so much like his father, just a miniature version, exhibiting the same thoughtful countenance, the same wavering compassion. The look played with the cords of Zelda's heart, but she swallowed her feelings and said briskly.

"I am fine. Are you finished? It is high time we begin your lessons." She rose to her feet, gliding over toward the counter where there was placed a stack of educational books.

Cason groaned.

"But _motheeeerrrrr_, I was hoping today we could skip the lessons…"

"And what gave you such an impression?" wondered Zelda, returning to the table, volumes in hand. She set them down and began rifling through her workbooks.

"Well, I was thinking, mother, how it would be splendid if we could spend the day out in the sun. I hear no rain on the roof, so it must be good weather. Couldn't we, mother? Maybe Dawn will come out to see us!" Zelda had paid hardly any attention to his argument until his concluding statement, when she dropped the book she was holding onto the table with a mighty thud.

She shook her head vigorously. "No, I don't think that is a good idea. We have too much work to get finished, and… No. We are staying home."

"Oh, but mother…" Cason pleaded, frowning. "Please…"

"No. I'm afraid I have to put my foot down to this." She sat down in her seat in front of Cason and placed a book open in front of her. "I'm going to begin reading now, Cason. And I want you to listen. Do you understand?"

Cason nodded grumpily, folding his little arms.

"Fine."

Zelda gave him a look of mingled concern and languor before she lowered her eyes to the page and began reading aloud, slowly and carefully.

…...

The lessons and time flew by until Zelda began to forget her former worry. Everything was going most productively, and Cason was being a good listener and eager learner, until a crucial nock interrupted the festivities.

Wondering who would be calling at such a time, she went to check the window, and that's when she first saw him. The figure to graze her sight was a young, dashing man wearing an expensive suit, his glossy black hair waxed to the side, and his large jaw set in a happy welcome. Yet, if she had been fully engrossed in looking at the stranger, she might have noticed a strange and lustful glare bubbling in the his dark eyes and a sly grin quivering beneath his false kindness.

"Who is it?" yelped Cason from across the room.

"I don't know…" began Zelda slowly, "but he looks lost…" She came to this conclusion not by the way the man conducted himself, but the way he was dressed. She knew he was not from around the vicinity.

She unbolted and opened the door, her first and most deadly mistake.

The man gave Zelda a sad smile as she stepped lightly onto the deck beside him.

"Is there a problem?" she asked, wiping her hands on her dress.

"It is my grievous displeasure to inform you of this uttermost tragedy." A forlorn expression darkened the man's face, and his eyes trembled with feeling.

Zelda's brows furrowed and a strong feeling of anxiety overwhelmed her. For a moment she was dizzy.

"What news have you?" she asked hesitantly.

The man breathed in a stifled breath. "Your husband has had a terrible accident."


	7. Chapter 7: The Departure

**The Departure**

_Chapter 7_

A wave of cold apprehension coursed through Zelda's blood, trapping her in the moment. Suddenly everything else didn't matter. The worries accumulated in her heart towards Cason's fate of warrior-hood diminished, falling into the abyss of consciousness, and suddenly, they were lost and empty. As the terrible news settled into Zelda's conception, her one care—one thought—compassed her husband only.

"No…" she muttered incredulously, shaking her head. She regarded the strange man with pleading eyes, as if willing him to change the veracity of his former statement, but he made no attempt, nor did he comfort her.

He simply gazed her, noting her distress, observing her innocent beauty. A lustful and unrestraint shadow drowned the sympathy of his demeanor, but Zelda didn't notice the sudden change, so consumed was she in his words.

Her voice quiet with agitation, she asked the fatal question, "What has happened?" She glanced up at the stranger, who had again hidden his ulterior motive behind a compassionate guise.

"He was helping Fado organize the farmhouse, and when he reached his hand down to lift the carpet, he unknowingly uncovered a poisonous snake which bit into his arm. Fado was quick in peeling off the menace, but not before the poison entered his bloodstream." The man looked awfully sorry, and he lowered his head.

Zelda's lungs filled with a sudden chill, and the woozy feeling dribbled through her skin, soaking into every pore of her body. She leaned against the cabin for support.

"When did this happen? Where is he? "she choked. Though she questioned the stranger's credibility, the terror his story aroused couldn't be easily dismissed. She tried to steady her quickened heart rate, breathing in slowly. She wanted to look upon this tragedy with the wisdom she was known for, but for some undefinable reason, even the placid pool of her soul was troubled, disabling a clear grasp of reality. Inside she felt dead and cold, and against all her attempts, her mind refused to cooperate.

"It happened earlier this morning, and he has been transported to the Hyrule hospital where he will find good care. I was not informed anything more on the subject. You'll have to go to see if he's alright," the man explained, maintaining perfect composure. He seemed not in the least bothered by Zelda's shakiness.

Zelda nodded slowly, her focus distant and swimming in dread. She put her hand to her thumping scalp and closed her eyes. Darkness enclosed her.

"Then…I'll have to go…" she said, at length, though reluctantly.

"I shall take you, then. It is not good for you to travel alone." The stranger's offer was polite, and Zelda opened her eyes, lifting them to his face. In distress, she seemed all the more beautiful.

"Thank you," she began in a calm voice, quieting her expression. She _must_ console herself, her current disposition not suitable in front of an audience. Still, she felt frayed and unsteady. "Your offer of companionship is much appreciated. Just lend me a minute to find lodging for my son while we are away." She feigned an upturning of the lips, a poor excuse for a smile, but it lasted only an instant.

"Of course, of course…" the man replied after a moment, but he seemed hesitant. "Just hurry," he added rapidly. "There may not be much time."

Zelda swallowed hard, but nodded, turning away to open the door and, at the same time, hide the anxiety once again making an appearance in her countenance. She yanked the door open and flew to Cason, who still sat idly in his chair, but he straightened his back as he heard her thumping footsteps in their swift approach.

"What's going on?" he cried as Zelda swooped him into her arms and sped toward the light of the open door. She didn't answer.

Before leaving, Zelda paused short of herself and turned to survey the home she was about to leave. When she would return was a mystery, and even when she returned, things might never be the same.

Cason voiced not a word during Zelda's time of reminiscing. A foreboding sense crept around the air, like a cat preparing to pounce, and pressed against Zelda's chest, he could hear and feel her heartbeat as it persisted in its harsh and rampant tumult. He knew something had gone wrong, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to ask.

Zelda's mind was racing. The room looked so strange, now as she surveyed it from the viewpoint of one about to leave its homely structure and face an ambiguous outcome. The chair she had taken comfort in that very morning seemed a stranger, odd and unfamiliar, and although the books cluttering the table had just been used, they seemed so out of place, as if they no longer belong to her. Perhaps they never be hers again. The simple life Zelda had been able to keep her family subject to—this safe haven where no evil had ever contaminated—may never be looked on the same way again.

The stranger who had been waiting on the porch, stepped up to peek in the doorway. His eyes fixated onto Zelda's slender form, and for a minute, he noiselessly watched her, an impious regard polluting his features. If Zelda had been aware of his hungering countenance, she would have been mortified, but her back was turned and she thought nothing of another's inspecting her.

A slight breeze occasionally interfered unashamed with the edges of Zelda's gown, rippling its white fabric, and her dark hair was penciled in the spectral glow entering through the door, making her appear similar to a phantom, beautiful and soundless.

Finally Zelda turned, her face rigid and aggrieved. Luckily for the stranger, her doleful gaze was sweeping the floorboards, giving him the opportunity to shrink out of sight behind the doorframe before he could be caught spying.

"I must go, dearest," Zelda whispered to Cason as she immerged onto the deck, her face pale. As she passed the shady stranger, she nodded absentmindedly in his direction before nearly tripping down the ladder. When she reached the ground, he followed her.

"Where are we going?" asked Cason, lifting his beady head. His thin brows were furrowed and his rosy forehead was creased with concern.

"You are going to stay with someone while I am away, and I don't know how long I'll be gone…" murmured Zelda, still in a daze as she hastened toward the village square. Everything around her seemed a blur of color and angst.

The stranger who pursued them maintained a respectable distance, but he craned his head to catch every word migrating from Zelda's lips to her son's attending ears.

"But what about daddy?" wined Cason impetuously. Zelda halted still, wavering like a leaf in a storm, as if her enduring stem was suddenly too weak to suspend her any longer and she'd rip away into the whirlwind spiraling in her mind. Though the sensation of fragility and feebleness was agonizing, she retained her imperial carriage, and breathing in a long breath, she bowed her head, blocking out the world and redirecting her thoughts to the little child clinging restlessly to her sleeves. She need not worry him. Nothing was known for definite, and her worry was not by any means improving the situation.

"…He will come back with me…" she whispered, so quietly that even the itchy ears of her prying acquaintance heard not a word, only a soft muttering, like that of running water. The gentle charm was again playing in Zelda's vocal chords, and Cason smiled, though timidly.

"Where will I be staying?" he enquired.

"Give me a moment." Zelda lifted her head and searched the vicinity. She walked over to the first person she identified. A frail old lady was out hanging clothes on the line, and Zelda began to walk over to her. The lady wore a green apron over a simple gray dress, both tattered at the bottom, and a pair of oversized black boots adorned her feet. Her bluish-gray hair was pulled back tightly in a bun from which a throng of clips protruded. A gaggle of coccos noisily flittered around her legs, and as Zelda approached, Cason could hear the lady arguing with the annoying flock of poultry.

"Don't you cluck at me anymore!" she demanded of the googly-eyed, white-feathered beasts, stamping her foot into the ground, shaking a girdle at them before clipping it on the line.

"Mrs. Hashka!" Zelda interjected, reaching her. The woman leaped around, startled, automatically glancing at the ground as if it were the coccos who had addressed her.

"Oh, my deary! Don't startle me so again!" she gasped, clutching her heart, but noticing Zelda's ghostly face, being as thin as parchment and as stony as marble, her attitude promptly sobered. "What is the matter, sweety?" she asked, her animated voice suddenly cavernous and sodden with concern.

"I need you to do me a favor," Zelda began with entreaty. "In a moment I shall be departing to Hyrule without the knowledge of when I'll be returning, and while I am away, I desperately need you to watch after Cason. I know this is short notice, but I have no choice. If you will oblige, I shall be in great debt to you…and will return to you a sum suitable to your exertion, but I haven't the time to pay you at the moment. …And you shouldn't worry about clothes for him," she rushed on, after a short pause for breath, "I have left my house unlocked, and his articles may be swiftly found in the drawers of his room. …I'm sure you know where. Also, I'd like the cabin to be locked as soon as you can spare a moment, and the key of which is hidden beneath the maiden rug. Now if you'll—"

"My!" interrupted Mrs. Hashka with a gasp, before replying, "Don't you worry a pin about nothing, you hear, deary? It is unhealthy—simply unhealthy! Now what is this business about? I most assuredly will do my duty in minding your son and home if needs be, but what is the rush?"

Zelda would have told her, but in the circumstance of Cason's overhearing, she remained silent, her gaze beseeching and withdrawn.

"Link needs me…" she murmured after a moment. The lady immediately understood the statement, though vague, and her countenance grew troubled. She nodded to inform Zelda of her comprehension and sympathy.

"Whatever the circumstances be," she articulated in a confidential manner, deliberately choosing her words, "I wish you goddess-speed and favor. May all turn out well, that you'll return in better spirits…you _and your husband_."

"Thank you…" Zelda murmured fervently. She hastened to kiss Cason and bid him a loving farewell before placing him into the care and arms of her obliging friend.

"Mamma, I love you," Cason murmured as their hands unclasped. Zelda's heart took a deep plunge at the hearing of those beautiful words.

"I love you too, Cason. Bye, now." She stepped back hesitantly, loath to leave him, but Mrs. Hashka gave her an encouraging smile.

"Take care, deary."

Zelda nodded, turning to the stranger who she'd imagined had been waiting patiently behind her, and she was a little concerned when, at first, she didn't see him. Yet, an instant later, she caught sight of his manicured silhouette withered into the shadows of a large tree rather a few yards away. She fleetingly swept toward him, her gown quivering against her ankles.

"Come," began the stranger in a contemplative tone, not looking at her, but contently grazing the landscape with an absent gape. "…My horse is waiting near the village exit." He released his fascination of the scenery and turned to go. For a moment Zelda stood motionless, but when the man glanced behind him, she followed—gracefully, yet forlornly departing from the place she considered as much a part of family as the people residing there.

A leisurely breeze swept through the foliage, discarding a few loose leafs from their flaccid perches, twirling them down to cackle around the adventure's feet with a sound akin to laughter.

_What a beautiful goodbye!_


	8. Chapter 8: Everything Changes

**Everything Changes**

_Chapter 8_

A sleek stallion, its fir and mane a shade of darkness, turned his head and peered with beady eyes at the two who approached him. One he instantly recognized as his master, for whose austere appearance and haughty strut was signature, and although the fellow had tried to restrain his famous mannerisms to suit the lady with whom he sojourned, the arrogance of his heart could in no way be eluded.

The other was an unfamiliar woman with a regal gait, but tense features. She strode closely behind her companion, but didn't look in his direction, her mind seeming elsewhere. On her, the creature fixed his concentration, and he wondered what business a man like his master had with the exquisite female.

The master shortly reached his horse, and when he did, he glanced over his shoulder at the lady, who had uplifted her azure eyes to meet his attentive regard. Beneath his steady gaze, Zelda felt so young and immature, and the acquainted fear of the days of her childhood revivified before her eyes. She saw herself, so young, so innocent, and clinging with ashen knuckles to the bridal of a horse of purest white, as they galloped away through the spattering dirt, her caretaker bent over her, shielding her from the rain as it walloped down in cold, pungent sheets, each drop a dagger, sharp and penetrating. It was a day Zelda never would—**never could**—forget, and it loomed in her memory day to day, night to night like a cold, familiar phantom, never resting, always persistent, intent to reappear at the most inconvenient times; and with it, the fear and dread of that fatal day would enclose about her in such a way she could almost feel again the warmth of her caretaker's chest against her back and the hollow lifeless feeling sagging in her stomach. And it was so, just then, under the stranger's gaze, that she recalled most vividly the deep, innermost discomfort of that day, and she could almost feel again the lurking anger of the villain who had pursued her and her caretaker out of their home and into the whiles of the outside world, so new to Zelda who had never before stepped foot beyond the defending drawbridge.

It was the day her father was murdered, the day Hyrule fell under attack, and the smell of smoke fused with the sickly pungent aroma of burning flesh had scratched a deep memory into Zelda's mind. Could men be so wicked? Before, all Zelda had known was bliss, a life full of darling books, women with fine, regal gowns, and men with curt, respectable nods, until that day—that heinous day, which changed her life forever. She was forced to become a warrior, hiding beneath a guise of someone else, while her home was tormented for seven long, lonely years. Oh, if it weren't for Link's coming to save her, to right the wrong that had been done and defeat the evil ruler, where would she be now?

It was as if the trial had begun again. As if the pattern was again beginning to carve its abysmal design into their lives, but this time she was going back to the place she had fled; and who had she to shield her from the rain of her emotions? This uncertain future must be faced by her solitary self, and this time, she couldn't run nor hide.

"We must go." The deep voice of her companion startled her out of her reverie, and to her bemusement, her eyes felt wet. She blinked hard and peered at the stranger.

"Yes," she murmured forcefully. The man stepped out of her way as she drew closer and skillfully hoisted herself onto the stallion's sturdy backbone. When she was settled, the stranger untied the reins from their hook around a neighboring fence, and with them in hand, he leaped on ahead of her, turned the horse in the opposite direction, and encouraged it with a spur of his heel into a hasty trot. Zelda held onto the edges of the hefty saddle as the trot developed into a full out gallop.

Soon the blurred outlines of the familiar scenery and dense foliage fell away, breaking into a large field surrounded by thin, ghostly trees. Though the expanse was well bare, now and then a few patches of taller grasses freckled the land, and the translucent glow of the gliding sun wove itself in merry wisps upon the greenery. Zelda glanced up toward the flawless blue sky and noticed the fleeting sun as it the trekked the clouds, penciling them in creamy yellow.

The Hyrule Field, wherein they traveled, stretched as far as the eye could see in all directions, and each section held a similar appearance, making the fear of becoming lost a proper worry for those who weren't well acquainted with the vicinity. But Zelda and apparently her driver had no such concern, for he maneuvered a quick and easy path through the brambles, in the direction of the invisible castle, hiding someplace beyond.

The scenes carried back further memories of the days years ago, but these were pleasant, the few agreeable retentions of her youth. She remembered how she used to climb to the very top floor of the castle and kneel at the open window, her elbows dug into the frame, her head in her hands. She'd gaze out upon the field in the beauty of the day, at the villagers in their bright and unfamiliar garb, as they'd flock to the castle from miles away, sitting high atop horses lugging brightly-covered wagons behind them, each cart sure to contain a cluster of fresh delicacies to trade, along with apparel of all sorts and many other accessories, all wrapped up in pretty bows and ribbons.

The breeze would trickle through the window and dance upon Zelda's heated flesh, for it was often very humid at the peak of the castle. It had been her favorite spot, where she could read in peace and view the world outside the castle walls without leaving the secure boundary of her dwelling. She loved to imagine thrilling stories about the people she'd watch far below. She was sure each of them had an exciting life, like the characters in her favorite novels, and often she wished she could trade places with one of the giddy young travelers, so that she may visit the far-away lands they called home and frolic in their bright and foreign clothing.

Looking back, a dull longing for those innocent, worry-free days began to cultivate in Zelda's heart. How she wished she again had the motive to look upon some stranger and think good of him even before their introduction. Since the days subsequent those of the Seven Years Plague, her view had changed. Now she couldn't help thinking ill of anyone she came across, until he proved himself a friend.

Suddenly, Zelda was awoken from her remembrance by a jerking action of her driver. Her concerned eyes rose to meet a dark silhouette of rock and marble leisurely coming into view along the horizon. Zelda's keen eyes latched onto it, and her heart took a deep plunge.

How familiar were those turrets! How many secrets held they within their walls! Yet, as they approached, her wistfulness morphed into a concerned scowl.

Utter disrepair and abandonment had decried the beauty of the marble structure. The walls were decrepit and overlaid with a veil of decaying moss and ivy. The drawbridge, once a well-maintained and striking entrance bedecked with banners, torches, and all manner of kingly welcome, had declined. Now it wasn't anything more than a tongue of fragmented timber protruding from the castle's threshold. The entire structure intoned an air of neglect, and beneath its obscure appearance, Zelda had difficulty imagining that this sorry excuse for a palace had once been anything more.

It wounded Zelda to see her home in shambles. What had Monsieur Jamison Jeckel been doing all these years as governor? Apparently he, like too many other superficial rulers, had gotten preoccupied in the luridness of authority and overlooked his duty to those subject to him. How Zelda's heart burned to know that the people she'd once lead and loved were so destitute, disregarded, and ill-used! If she were still in control, this would not be the case, but she no longer possessed the power of her royal heritage.

As the shady horse lithered to a stop near the beaten drawbridge, Zelda slipped her dark hood over her face. Three sentinels stood into the entryway, and they didn't look amiable.

Halt!" they cried in unison, racing out across the shambled wooden planks, their hefty metal boots clanking. Each shoved a long spear up into Zelda and her companion's faces.

"Who goes there!" one ordered. Zelda couldn't identify the speaker beneath his glinting helmet and armored apparel, but she was sure she didn't recognize his sneering tone. As princess, she had known the names and occupations of every workman under her allegiance, and she was sure this sentry was in no way familiar.

It surprised Zelda to see so many guards at one entrance. When she had ruled, only one guard was needed, and he never interrogated those who past, only kept an eye out for any suspicious characters.

"It is I, Sir. Kenzue Olvanor," began Zelda's driver, his voice burly and confident, not at all shaken by the guard's demeaning tone. _Sir_, wondered Zelda, _does that mean he is a knight?_

"Kenzue?" contemplated the guard who had addressed them. "What allegiance are you under?"

Kenzue, who evidently was Zelda's companion, shifted in his saddle, rolling his eyes dismissively.

"I work under the allegiance powerful enough to uproot you from your occupation and personally dunk you into the moat," he snarled jadedly, motioning toward the filth-splattered water surrounding the castle for emphasis.

"Oh…um…well… Oh, right! Kenzue! I remember now. Yes, of course, you may pass…" The stuttering guard backed away, looking as if he wanted to shrink into the pavement. Turning shakily to his fellow guards, he nodded, barking, "What you are doing standing 'round all pretty! Get out of the way and let him pass!" Quickly he and the others parted, allowing enough room for the horse and passengers to make their way past the threshold.

"Wait!" blubbered the guard who'd evidently regained his doggedness, stepping forward again.

"What?" Kenzue didn't hide his aggravation.

Wincing away from his glare, the guard squeaked, "Who accompanies you? Strangers aren't always welcome, and it is my job to know all who pass my entrance." Zelda shrank into her hood, hiding her face while the guard stared up at her.

"She is with me!" bellowed Kenzue, his eyes flashing. "And it is no business of yours to know whom I decide to bring within these castle walls!"

The guard looked as if he would lay an egg. "Of course. I'm sorry, master." He bowed wobbly, quickly pacing backward, clanging into a post. Grunting, Kenzue turned, and his horse kicked up a cloud of dust before it and its riders disappeared into the town.

...

Zelda was astounded by how much the town had changed.

After the Seven Year Plague, a foreign race had entered and populated Castletown. At one point, these nomadic people had convinced themselves that they were a race chosen of the gods to rule over all humanity. Caught up in this false pretense, they assembled into an army that unexpectedly attacked the Hyrule Castle, the main central of commerce and activity. The Hyrulians would have had no trouble thwarting these invaders' plan under normal conditions, but since the Seven Year Plague had recently caused a shortage of supplies and manpower, the assailants, who soon came to be known as the Hayfins, had no trouble taking control of the vast and preeminent city. As a mockery, they kept the fortress's name _Hyrule_, but eschewed the principles on which Hyrule was originally founded. In their ignorance and dishonor, they, in such a short time, ruined the greatness earned by royal blood over thousands of generations.

_My home—_thought Zelda forlornly, but she knew it wasn't her home anymore, and it would never be again. Not even a slight distinction of this god-forsaken place resembled the beautiful abode in which she had been raised.

She hated to wonder what would've happened if she hadn't forfeited the throne to marry Link, if she had been princess at the time of the Hayfin's attack. She didn't want to doubt the covenant she made with Link on her wedding day, but seeing her home owned by a gruesome people who have forsaken the wisdom of the sages and live in immorality, ignites her heart with a burning sensation, a mixture of indication toward these scandalous intruders and a self-conviction concerning her own life choices. Would things have been different if she had stayed? Could she have saved her home and royal culture?

She tried to ignore the unvoiced questions congesting her mind, but everywhere she turned, all she saw was the recurring nightmare of a home turned into a prison. Banners, tents, and flags bore the Hayfin's chief symbol—a black square incasing a gold triangle, symbolizing the Hayfins surrounding the Triforce, old Hyrule's main emblem.

Zelda shivered. Under her cape, she rubbed her right hand—the hand that bore the blessing of the goddesses—her Triforce of wisdom.

As Kenzue and Zelda rode on, a group of savage-looking men of the Hayfin tribe, bare-backed and muscular, were stacking logs onto a pile, but they stopped to glare brutishly in Zelda's direction. The same reaction applied to all the other men they rode passed. To Zelda's surprise, she saw no women or children.

"We are almost there. Just one more turn," Kenzue whispered over his shoulder. Zelda's mind snapped back to attention. She wasn't here to forlorn the loss of her home, but to be there for Link as he recovered from his snake bite.

As they came around a corner, Zelda was astonished by how dark the passageway was. A thick, tattered canvas shrouded the skyline. Below it, an old door was hollowed into a rock. It seemed strange to Zelda that the city's main hospital would be placed so far from public reach.

Kenzue pulled the reigns, and they came to a standstill.

"Here we are," he proclaimed, sliding off the side of his horse. "We'd better get inside quickly and see how Link is faring." He waited for Zelda to follow him, but she remained put.

"Are you sure this is the hospital?" she asked suspiciously.

"Of course!" cried Kenzue a little too eagerly. "Come on!" Zelda slid off the horse, but didn't step forward. Something about this wasn't right.

Seeing her reluctance, Kenzue stepped quite close to her.

"Come." He grabbed her by the arm and began dragging her toward the door. Zelda was taken aback by his forwardness, but suddenly too weak to pull away, she yelled, "Let go of me, you brute!"

Kenzue stopped and turned to gaze into her eyes with a sudden fierce and pitiless regard.

"You _will_ come with me!" he demanded sternly, his soft and caring voice abruptly forceful and patronizing. "You **must **come with me." Zelda shrunk away from him, not so much out of fear, but out of surprise. Her eyes grew wide, and her half-open mouth began to tremble, as though she wished to speak, but in full influence of the Kenzue's menacing scowl, all words failed her.

Kenzue, gratified by her bewilderment, turned and again yanked her toward the door. His grip was so tight, Zelda could feel her pulse where his hand penetrated. She fell upon him as he wrenched her forward, but she pushed away viciously.

"No!" Her voice quivered with a conniption too passionate to hide, but Kenzue was stronger than she. He grabbed both her arms and yanked them behind her back, directing her toward the door. Kicking the door open, he pushed her into the corner of the room. She fell inside a small prisoner's cell, twisting her wrist painfully as she landed.

Laughing a pitiless laugh, Kenzue swung the caged door shut with a bang.

"You are mine now, princess!"

...


	9. Chapter 9: Cason's Capture

**Cason's Capture**

_Chapter 8_

Mrs. Hashka's intentions were always sincere, but having had no children herself, she didn't quite know what to make of Cason, and his blindness didn't alleviate the situation.

As soon as Zelda and her companion faded out of sight, Mrs. Hashka carried Cason back to the tree house, making quick work of collecting everything the child needed for a night away. She also made sure to follow Zelda's instructions exactly, securing the padlock on the front door before hastening back to her house, clutching the key between her boney fingers. But when she returned and placed Cason down in the soft grass, she wasn't sure what to do with him.

"Now Cason," she began slowly, hesitating a moment. "…I'm going to go put your stuff into the house and prepare a place for you to sleep." She waited for him to say something, marveling at how his youthful smile never disappeared.

"Okay!" he answered happily.

"You stay put, and I'll be right back," she concluded, carrying the basket of Cason's supplies into her house, thinking, "_What a cheerful lad!" _

Cason was a good little boy, but after several minutes of inactivity, his childish curiosity and need for entertainment got the best of him. Feeling the soft earth beneath him, he began to crawl away from the shelter of Mrs. Hashka's yard. Soon he came to the edge of the property, where the well-groomed lawn transformed into an ominous forest of twisty roots and branches. The profuse scent of pine filled Cason's nostrils, and as ignorant as a newborn, he pulled himself over the harsh terrain and into the dangerous jungle. He moseyed along, sometimes pausing to listen to the witty garbling of some lost geese migrating overhead.

The earth was strange beneath him. Gnarled roots circumnavigated the soil, and both sweet and sour-smelling foliage crept along the surface, now and then escalating into extravagant ferns and ivies that drooped over his small body, tickling and sometimes scratching his tender skin.

It was an all-new experience for him to be out on an adventure alone, and he quite enjoyed the sentiment. He took a deep breath, letting the fragrant, woodsy odor create an imaginary vision in his mind of all the things he wished he could see.

He reached forward and brushed passed another tall fern, when…

"Hey!" –a voice startled him out of his daydream, and he leaped back in shock. "It's you!" the voice continued sharply. "What are you doing here?"

"Dawn?" Cason cried in disbelief. "Is that you? You scared me!"

"I could say the same thing," began Dawn, gazing into Cason's bright eyes. Crawling out from beneath the broad leaf she had been napping under, she asked, "Why are you out wandering in the woodland? …Did your parents leave you?"

"No!" Cason said quickly. "I was looking for you."

"And why would you do a thing like that?" Dawn sounded genuinely surprised. Cason hesitated, unsure how to respond. It was a question he was seldom asked.

"Well, friends visit each other…" he whispered. A gentle breeze carried his words into Dawn's attentive ears, and her eyes softened. It was strange that this young boy had such an influence over her emotions.

"How can we be friends?" she murmured forlornly. "I don't even know your name…"

"I'm Cason," the blond boy replied simply. "Now we can be friends." He smiled as if he had just solved all the problems in the world.

Dawn sat back on her knees, thinking to herself. She was sure that this young lad's being drawn into the east forest, where she had been living ever since the cruel citizens of the city cast her from them, was no happenstance. Yet, by what twist of fate had he come?

"Cason…?" she murmured softly, her voice barely audible.

"Yes?" Cason wondered why Dawn suddenly sounded so withdrawn. He stared hard in her direction, the gloom of his vision seeming more mysterious than usual.

"Where is your mother?" Dawn continued slowly, tip-toeing toward the delicate subject. She was almost certain that there was only one reason a child would be wandering the woods all alone.

Cason hesitated, catching the suspicion in Dawn's voice, but he didn't understand what she was implying. He began to wonder where exactly his mother _had _gone.

"I don't really know…" He trailed off perplexedly, and Dawn inched forward, sullenly gazing at Cason's angel-like face, upturned and hopeful. Surely he had done nothing wrong, and a deep indignation flared in Dawn's heart at the thought of how wretched his mother must be to abandon such a loving and innocent creature! She didn't want to explain to Cason the meaning of rejection. She herself understood how meaningless life became, once abandoned by family. To realize that one is not good enough to be loved, accepted, and cared for is a feeling too terrible to express, and poor Cason, so young and so wonderful, should never have to suffer such a dreadful wound! Her eyes glittered with unshed tears.

"Dawn? Are you still there?" Cason's sweet voice awoke her from her contemplations, and she quickly blinked away the tears.

"Yes, Cason, I'll always be here," she murmured, trying to suppress the pain in her voice. Cason tilted his head pensively, trying to understand why Dawn sounded so quiet, but a sudden shifting in the wind distracted his attention.

"Do you smell that…?" He wondered aloud, straightening his back and sniffing like a dog. Dawn's brows knit with curiosity.

"Smell what?" She turned to glance around the forest, sniffing the air tentatively. A sickly sweet aroma burned her nostrils, and she sneezed.

"Where is it coming from?" asked Cason. He had never smelled anything so nauseating in his life. It smelled as if someone were trying to cook a moldy pair of old socks. He and Dawn blocked their noses simultaneously.

"I don't know," Dawn answered cautiously. A cold feeling swam up her spine, and she shivered. Something was happening in the forest, and it wasn't good.

"I think we should go now." Her voice was rigid and serious. She rose to her feet and waited for Cason to follow her, but he didn't respond.

"Do you hear that…?" His voice was pensive and distant. Dawn craned her neck and listened. A definite _thump-pa-thump_ resounded eerily through the otherwise silent woodland. Her heart rate quickened when she heard it.

"Cason, we need to leave!" She was urgent, almost trembling. She turned to flee, but Cason cried after her.

"I can't!" He struggled to his feet and tried to propel himself forward, but in the darkness of his absent sight, he tripped over a root and landed in a pile of dirt and ivy.

Dawn crouched beside him. She tried to lift him, but he was too heavy, so she twined her arms through his and pulled him to his feet, guiding him through the forest as fast as she could.

If she could just make it to her shelter before—oh, but it was too late! Shadowy forms became visible behind them, quickly approaching. Dawn caught sight of them in the corner of her eye, and pushing Cason into a shrub, she dove after him.

"Hey!" he yelped in alarm, but Dawn bade him to be silent. She enclosed the foliage around them and and peered through a small gap in the greenery. A group of men, burly and bearded, staggered over the vegetation, muttering to themselves in deep, drawling tones. In all her years living in the forest, Dawn never saw these men before. She figured that they must be itinerants, roving the countryside for shelter and food.

As they approached, Dawn noticed that they carried long poles across their hunched shoulders, and something very large was tied to each, but from a distance, she couldn't identify what they were.

Cason wondered what was going on, but he knew to stay quiet and still. His heart beating rapidly, he reached forward, placing a faltering hand on Dawn's back, wanting to be assured that she was still with him.

Dawn didn't notice. She was too busy trying to make out what large creatures hung from the men's beams. They came into view slowly, and it took a moment for Dawn to apprehend what she was looking at. Even then, the sight was too terrible to believe. A shiver of icy fear ran through her body, and she thrashed back against Cason, who cried out, thinking a monster had found them.

Frozen in fear, Dawn didn't run or even scream when the men, having heard Cason's cry, surrounded them.

"Wha' hab we he're?" one of the ugly men cackled. His shabby cloak was soiled with dirt and fresh blood. Leaning in, he glared at the children with large, distorted eyes. In one deformed hand, he held a dagger, and he didn't look reluctant to use it.

"Looks like ou' luck has turned…" His companion grinned maliciously, exposing his blood-stained teeth. "Theeb will make soome tasty morsels, aye?"

Dawn swallowed hard, fear glazing her eyes. Cason didn't understand what the men were indicating, but their nasty voices dissuaded his asking.

"…Wha', ya don't speak?" hooted one of the ogres bitterly. His head was large and bald, a strange tattoo marking his scalp. His companions laughed a sour laugh.

"Too bad, I like dinner with a' a'ttatude," another added, but by the way he was eyeing the children, Dawn and Cason's silence didn't seem to have discouraged his appetite.

By this time, Dawn had recovered somewhat from her surprise, and she realized what was happening. Glancing around subtly, she prepared to make a run for it, but the oldest of the men was quicker than she. In one swift motion, he slung a large brown sack over her and Cason, trapping them together. Dawn screamed, clawing at the parchment, but it was no use.

"Sorry, darlin'," the man snorted, lobbing them over his shoulder. "But we is hungry…"


	10. Chapter 10: Link's Dilemma

**Link's Dilemma **

_Chapter 10_

The elusive scent of lilac and wild roses slipped through the low-hanging branches, a cool indication of evening's swift approach, yet the calmness didn't offset Link's rigid nerves. A strange restlessness played with his heart, and a tension loomed in the air, consuming all his thoughts and feelings.

Everything had seemed perfectly normal when he had arrived at work. He and his boss Fado had exchanged casual greeting, no differently than they had every morning for years. Then they had made the customary rounds, feeding the livestock and pumping water from the old well out back, only stopping occasionally to make some witty remark or explain something important.

Fado was in his usual upbeat mood, and Link had felt fine, doing all these tasks without giving them a second thought, until it came time to saddle his horse Epona.

In the barn, an uncanny anxiety had sprung upon him, and even now, as he rode Epona around the corral, herding the last of the goats into the byre before nightfall, that same badgering emotion pulled tirelessly at his heart. He didn't understand it. As he played through his mind the actions of earlier, he came to no suitable conclusion. He simply was going crazy.

Two lavender-tinted clouds cradled the sun as it began its overhead descent, spreading its pink rays over the sky, a spiraling kaleidoscope of warm twilight colors, but poor Link was too preoccupied to notice.

His eyes drifted over the scenery, nothing of interest fixating his absent gaze. One ornery goat kept evading his commands, frolicking in the wrong direction every time he got near, but Fado, who stood watching from a distance, could tell that Link didn't have his heart in what he was doing. Link's pale face was very much evident, and Fado was no fool. He knew something was wrong.

"Ho! Link! Is sompting de matter?" he hollered finally. Link turned in the saddle, caught off-guard by the sudden voice disturbing his quiet thoughts.

"Ah…no. I'm just—" As he stumbled to reply, a flash of gold attracted his attention, and he glanced at the back of his right hand. To his astonishment, he saw his Triforce glowing, and it was flickering incessantly. In one swift instant, as if the sought-after answer had been whispered into his ear, Link understood what the unease in his soul meant, and his eyes grew wide. He yanked sharply on his horse's reins, and they shuddered to a standstill.

Epona turned her large head and peered inquisitively at her master, wondering at his recklessness. It was so unlike him, but Link was too upset to care. He gawked at his hand as if he were in a trance, and the world around him faded into a shiny blur.

Fado began racing over to him. "Link, you need help, buddy?" he asked, but Link made no reply. Only when Fado nudged his arm, did Link turn, his glistening, icy-blue eye filled with alarm.

"Zelda's in trouble…" he murmured quietly.

Fado faltered for a response. The first word that came to his mind was, "_Again_…?" but the distress in Link's expression made him think twice. Instead, he decided to state the obvious.  
"Well, if she's in trooble you better go save har…" He nodded wisely as if this were a profound saying. For once, Fado made perfect sense.

"I got to go," Link said quickly. Spurring Epona into a rapid gallop, he rode past Fado and toward the gateway.

Fado stood scratching the back of his head as he watched Epona leap the gate and both she and rider disappear into the fine mist of evening.

…

The Ordon village welcomed Link with a gush of dread. A dark storm cloud circled overhead, and it seemed to be toying with his thoughts. Making a speedy arrival at his tree house, he bounded off Epona and bolted up the ladder. Finally, he laid a quick grasp of the doorknob and yanked, but it would not yield. He tried again, this time urgently, but it was locked tight. Zelda never locked the door, and this unquestionable knowledge hit Link hard. He peered in the window, searching for any signs of life, but the house was dark. The only thing he could distinguish was the opaque shadow of the fireplace chair—unoccupied. As a last resort, he began ardently hammering the door with his fist, but no one came.

As Link's mind finally caught up with his actions, he tried to convince himself that some inconsequential explanation would shed light on Zelda's unusual absence, but the facts seemed unfavorable. Since Link could remember, Zelda had always been home to greet him when he returned from the corral. The house would be bursting with the mouth-watering aroma of cooked vegetables and savory meats, and Zelda would smile lovingly, welcoming him with a quick hug and kiss, before gesturing him toward the table. She'd always try to make dinner a pleasant and effortless experience, knowing well that Link's job sometimes got overwhelming and he needed a little something to ease his overworked muscles. Only now, when the house was quiet and empty, did Link realize how much he appreciated and anticipated Zelda's devout attendance.

"Link?" a quiet voice interrupted his thoughts, and he hopefully turned toward the sound, but it was just his old friend Ilia, who stood resting one hand on the ladder, gazing up at him in concern.

"Ilia!" Link began hurriedly, "do you know where Zelda is?"

Ilia hesitated, shaken by Link's eager countenance and demanding tone. "Ah… she didn't tell you she was leaving?" She squinted in confusion.

"When did she leave? Where'd she go? Where's Cason?" Link pressed. Ignoring the ladder, he leaped from the deck and landed beside Ilia. His eyes glowed earnestly as he waited for an answer.

"I don't know…" Ilia wasn't sure what to say. Nervously, she twined her finger around her close-cropped brown hair. "I think she left around noon…like five/six hours ago. It was when I went to do some needed grocery shopping, and as I passed the tree house, I saw her and Cason fly down the ladder and take off toward the common. She looked pretty upset, so I didn't say anything, but I thought it strange that she was with some tall-looking fellow—"

"Who?!" Link interjected fiercely. His fist tightened anxiously.

"I don't know…" Ilia repeated. "I never saw him before. He was dressed up pretty oddly, with a dark suit and dark features—dark and handsome, I suppose one could say. But don't worry, Link, I'm sure everything's fine and she'll be back soon." Ilia smiled assuredly, but Link knew better.

"When has Zelda's disappearance with a dark stranger ever ended fine?" he remarked humorlessly. Ilia's smile faded. "Where was she heading. Did you notice?" he continued.

"Well, let me think…" Ilia bit her bottom lip and wavered. Even in the midst of an urgent situation, she kept her wits about her, almost too well, but before Link began ripping his hair out, she made a reply. "Oh, yes! They went over to Mrs. Hashka's, I believe, and that's as much as I know."

…

Link pounded on Mrs. Hashka's door. After thanking Ilia for her service, he had straightaway gone where his next clue possibly hid. It took the old lady a minute to answer, but as soon as the door was opened, Link began his interrogation.

"Where's Zelda and Cason? Did you see them today? Do you know where they went?" His determination startled Mrs. Hashka, and she began to babble, which was her tendency when she got nervous.

"Well…ah…yes…you…she's…he's…they're…Hyrule." Her face flushed, and she looked about ready to collapse. Link did his best to calm his expression and steady his voice, repeating the question slowly, "Mrs. Hashka, do you _know _where _Zelda _and _Cason are_?" The old lady nodded.

"Zelda's gone off to Hyrule to help you, and she left Cason here with me. He's…" she turned, and her face instantly paled, but Link was too caught up in her words to realize her mounting panic.

"She's gone to Hyrule!" he yelped in disbelief. Mingled anger and surprise splayed his restless eyes, and he shook his head frantically. "No, she can't go there… They'll—" Whatever he was about to say was cut short by Mrs. Hashka's dreadful cry of shock.

"Cason's gone!"

This triggered Link's attention. He turned on her, his eyes seeking for a gap in her certainty, but the truth behind Mrs. Hashka's avowal could not be reformed. Cason was nowhere in sight! Mrs. Hashka rung her hands in desperation, her face flushed with terror.

"I left him right here in the grass, but that was hours ago! Oh, I am such a fool to forget him! It's all my fault!" she blubbered hysterically, big tears welling in her bloodshot eyes.

Link stood in shock. Usually, he didn't crack under pressure. Unimaginable feats posed no threat to his unfailing courage and strength, but this time, he alone wasn't the victim to imminent danger—his wife and son were. As he thought over the perilous fate possibly harming his separated family, a deep inward fear began to dishearten his heroic nature, but this was no time to think; this was a time to act.

"Mrs. Hashka, calm yourself," he ordered boldly. "You said that Cason wandered away from this area a few hours ago?"

Mrs. Hashka nodded, trying to sober herself, but she truly felt at fault for this great mishap. She always tried so hard to do the right thing, but too often she'd fail by making some unintentional blunder which potentially humiliated herself and others, but never in her life had she done something that conjured such dreadful consequences as threatening the life of a child. She couldn't bear the thought of Cason befalling any danger on her account, but amid the trauma, she tried to calm herself as Link had commanded. If she had any dignity left, she would hide it under her pride and face the music.

"Yes. He must have sneaked off about an hour ago," she answered, only a jot of her former passion swaying her tone. She gazed earnestly into Link's hardened features. "What do you suppose we do?" Link thought for a moment. His thoughts were jumbled, a lingering dread disturbing his wisdom, but despite his faltering judgments, he knew that solving this dilemma resulted in a choice between two people he loved dearly. Who to go after first—Zelda or Cason?

Finally Link turned to Mrs. Hashka with tenacity. "I need you to start a search party. I want every man, women, and child in the village searching for Cason. Check the houses, walkways, gardens—every nook and cranny. …And if he's not there…_search the forest_…"

"The forest!" exclaimed Mrs. Hashka, thinking of the treacherous twists the turns of the woody world surrounding the outskirts of their sunny village.

"Yes, search **everywhere **until you find him." Link's eyebrows were set in a straight line, and so was his resolve. Mrs. Hashka nodded, knowing not to question Link's bidding. She had already done enough harm, but there was one question she could not quite swallow.

"Where will _you_ be?" she enquired. Link rested one hand on the hilt of his sword.

"_I'll be rescuing Zelda, of course." _


	11. Chapter 11 (Part 1) :Nighttime Horror

** Nighttime Horror **

_Chapter 11 (Part 1)_

Mrs. Hashka wasted no time implementing the trifling formalities often expressed among the reposed village folk. The extreme situation motivated her to act divergent of her cautious nature. Once Link had gone, she raced into the village, calling out to all who might hear, "I need help! Everyone, come out, _come out!_"

In mingled surprise and alarm, two little boys who heard the forceful address from their seats beside the windowsill of their wainscoted bedroom, turned to gaze through the glass at the strange phenomenon taking place in the village common. Men, women, and children began to assemble around the red-faced Mrs. Hashka, some having heard her cry for help and willing to lend their services, some merely curious toward the reason for this rare commotion.

"What is wrong, Mrs. Hashka?" Rusl was the first of the growing assembly to address the prominent issue, while the others waited around, making no attempt to calm the despairing lady who had inconveniently interrupted their quiet evening. Instead, the older of the congregation, in discreet annoyance, began to mutter to themselves regarding the sanity of "old, unreasonable Mrs. Hashka," as if she were too consumed in her insensitive anxiety to hear their suggestive remarks; however, although beside herself with devastation at Cason's mysterious whereabouts, Mrs. Hashka clearly perceived the offhanded comments, each sending a pang of sorrow through her old, but enduring, heart.

"Does anyone care!" she cried out suddenly, starling the lethargic individuals into wide-eyed attention. "Cason, our own very dear youngling, has gone a-missin', and we'd be best to wake up our sleepy eyes and starting hunting for the little life! You knows it 'ud be best, a'fore the child is beyond saving!"

This information struck the crowd as though the very earth had fallen out of orbit. Among the people in the village, Cason had become more than "the blind child." He had become their best friend.

Cason's sweet character coupled with his misfortunate circumstances had evoked in the more nurturing women a strong sense of motherly affection, which impelled them to regard him with an open fondness similar, if not more conspicuous, than the adoration shown to their own children. When Cason was yet an undeveloped child, barely old enough to walk on his own, the ladies in the village had taken a strange liking to him. When they came to visit, they'd always bring either a pumpkin-flavored lollypop or a maple-flavored sugar stick to give to "the precious blind child" of whom they seemed so curious and mystified. Likewise, the men in the village were no less astounded at Cason's clever wits and optimistic nature. When Link used to carry Cason to the riverside to keep for company while Link fished, the other fishermen would gather around like thirsty travelers guided to the fountain of youth. Cason would never disappoint them. He'd respond differently to each of their questions, and his witty, yet intelligent replies, filled with so much meaning and innocence, perplexed the older men, who had long ago lost their intuitive imagination.

To hear that Cason, the gifted young man who had become more than a blessing to each person in the village, including the young ones who admired Cason as they would an older brother—to hear that _he_ was missing started them as if it meant the sun had lost its shine.

Suddenly the incredulous hush which had descended over the crowd was broken by an outbreak of voices shaken by the hysteria of an indwelling dread. Swaying like a tempest-disturbed sea, the mob roared their anxious comments, questions, and suppositions. Bits of information spread like wildfire over the congregation, countering their most pointed of inquiries, such as the location of Link and Zelda and how the misfortune of Cason's misplacement came to be. After such demands were rejoined, the universal "Have you seen him?" perched upon every brow, but no one could give their affirmative. Cason hadn't been spotted at the mill, the general store, the farm, the bakers, or the gardeners—in fact, no one had seen him that day at all!

It was if the young, cherished child had simply up and vanished. Others in the crowd, however, being logical fellows not soon overtaken by dismay, vowed to search the vicinity. Without waiting to be sent, they hurried off in differing directions, no strategy guiding their movements, only a blind panic. Mothers, who were left behind, held close their children as if they imagined the same wicked force which had taken Cason coming to capture their own precious ones.

Nearly forty-five minutes of this panic-driven search persisted before a conclusion was reached and accepted. The darkness of eventide had crept over the landscape, leaving the air cold and obscure. The villager's torches cackled quietly as they waited patiently for the search party to return. Mrs. Hashka rubbed her hands together nervously, ignoring the unrelated blabber of the crowd, which had reduced to a few sociable ladies, mostly older and childless. Her heart undulated with an awful self-reproach, which consumed her thoughts and emotion. She had been placed in charge of a young child, depended on her, and she had left it defenseless. No pain she had ever suffered could be compared to the dreadful agony an awareness of her own folly conveyed. The reason for her inability to have children was for the first time clearly understood. The goddesses had made it so, knowing Mrs. Hashka couldn't handle the responsibility. A cold, unshed tear lingered in her eye as she pondered these things.

Finally the search party was spotted approaching from the hills, their torches lifted high, like bright dancing stars against the black sky. Mrs. Hashka perked her head up, blinking away the tears and hoping in the deepest extremity of her spirit that the child had been found; but as the men's downcast faces came into view, she knew the terrible truth even before the men voiced their result.

"What do we do now?" Mrs. Hashka asked earnestly when the men had drawn nigh. "We can't leave him out there all alone in the night!"

"No, ma'am, we can't," began Fado gravely. "We'll just havta search the forest."


End file.
